


Between the Sheets

by happy_birthday_diane_use_a_pretty_font



Category: Archer (Cartoon)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Begging, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Sex, Top Ray
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-23 02:41:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19141921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happy_birthday_diane_use_a_pretty_font/pseuds/happy_birthday_diane_use_a_pretty_font
Summary: Krieger buys the Dreamland trumpet player a drink.





	Between the Sheets

**Author's Note:**

> Slapped this together while on a road trip. (Don't worry I wasn't driving.) Leave a comment :)

Krieger's favorite part of the night was closing. The click of the door's lock was endlessly satisfying, even though he knew, more often than not, he wouldn't be descending his rickety hidden staircase any time soon. The band would usually sit at the bar and talk for awhile, not drinking, just hanging out. Krieger could easily close down the bar and disappear - down the hatch, even, and they probably wouldn't notice, and definitely wouldn't ask questions - but opted not to. There was a simple reason for this, and he played the trumpet.

Gillette was an enigma. The man was rather… _innocent_ was the nice word, _dumb_ was the honest one. He frequently made stupid observations punctuated by even stupider jokes, most of which he didn't even understand. More than once, Krieger thought it might be the language barrier. His English was impeccable, but not perfect. Maybe his puns were clever in English, to a native speaker? But he ruled this out, since the jokes were not recieved well by the other members of the band.

Despite this, or maybe because of it, the intricate and detailed stories Gillette often told about his sexual adventures fascinated Krieger. The tales were kinky, depraved, funny (though never when intended), but most of all, Krieger couldn't decide whether he believed them. Did a grown man who was shocked to discover that beer contained yeast _really_ have the capacity to fuck his way out of paying rent, for the third month in a row?

Krieger had no idea, but he wanted to find out.

One night, when the boys took their seats at the bar, Gillette was silent. This was completely uncharacteristic. Krieger decided tonight might be the night to make his move.

He approached Gillette, under the pretense of wiping down the surface of the bar.

"You're quiet tonight."

Gillette only shrugged.

"You want a drink?"

Gillette shook his head. "I don't have any cash on me."

"Don't worry about it."

Gillette blinked. "Are you allowed to do that?"

"I'm entitled to a shift drink. What would you like?"

"Surprise me." He smiled his innocent smile.

Krieger was very aware of Gillette's eyes on him. He decided to make a drink he knew by heart, hoping his speed would impress the man. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gillette's expression change slightly when he shook the cocktail.

"What is it?" Gillette asked, surveying the yellow drink.

"It's called 'Between the Sheets.' Cognac, white rum, triple sec, some lemon juice…" Gillette was smirking, now, and Krieger wanted to know why.

"'Between the Sheets,' huh? Are you trying to tell me something?"

Krieger only rolled his eyes, attempting to remain aloof, but his stomach jolted with excitement at this.

"I'm serious," said Gillette, sipping his drink. "Damn, that's good!"

"Serious about what?" He was still wiping the counter. Gillette rested a hand on top of Krieger's.

"You've been wiping a clean bartop for ten minutes, babydoll."

Krieger started to speak, but Gillette interrupted.

"I think you _are_ trying to tell me something. Y'know why?"

He glanced at the other band members, but they were caught up in their own conversations.

"Why?"

"'Cause, even if this wasn't called 'Between the Sheets,' you bought it for me. And, when I gave you a choice, you decided to make me a drink with two different liquors in it." He noticed Krieger's face. "Are you surprised I know triple sec ain't liquor?"

"I am."

"Yeah, well. I know a lot more than you give me credit for. I can be goofy, but sometimes I ask you questions just to hear your answer."

"Oh?"

"Uh-huh. But do you wanna know what really gives you away?"

"What's that?"

"You haven't taken your hand away."

Krieger looked down. Indeed, Gillette's soft hand was still resting on his larger one. Gillette began stroking him with his thumb. He'd been played like a trumpet.

"So, what?" said Krieger, trying to keep his cool. "What is it, exactly, that you think I'm trying to communicate?"

Gillette's hand shifted. He was drawing circles on the sensitive skin of Krieger's wrist, now.

"What say you kick these characters out, and we dirty up this bartop?"

Krieger snatched his hand away and walked over to the other members.

"C'mon, guys, I've got plans. Scram, why don't you?"

"Damn!"

"Yeah, calm down! We'll get outta your way."

The drummer turned to Gillette. "C'mon, we're being ejected. I'll drive you home."

"Oh, I, uh…"

He looked between Gillette and the bartender. A smirk grew on his face. "Oh, I get it. You've got _plans."_

Krieger rolled his eyes, while Gillette smiled coyly over his shoulder.

Neither man moved when they heard the back door close. After a moment, Krieger picked up Gillette's empty glass and began washing it.

"We don't really have to do anything," said Gillette.

"I'm just thinking."

"Aren't you always?" He was leaning on his hand, watching Krieger.

"What makes you say that?"

"You've just got one of those faces."

"Oh." He dried his hands and approached Gillette once more, leaning on the counter.

"What're you thinking about?"

"Whether I'm supposed to kiss you."

"I'll answer that for you," said Gillette, leaning in.

It was a surprisingly chaste kiss; very little tongue, but Krieger's hand somehow ended up on Gillette's cheek.

When Gillette pulled away, he was smiling that innocent smile.

"Y'know what _I'm_ thinking about?"

"What?"

"Judging by that shy little kiss, I'm thinking about bending _you_ over this bar."

Krieger looked Gillette up and down. "Do you think you're, ah…up to the task?"

Gillette's smile changed, only slightly. So slightly, in fact, that Krieger couldn't exactly pinpoint what was different, only that it wasn't innocent anymore.

"Get over here," Gillette purred. "I'm more capable than I look."

Krieger walked around the bar and stood before Gillette, arms crossed. Even as Gillette stood and pulled him in by the tie, he wasn't sure whether the blonde had the capacity to top.

Gillette kissed Krieger once more and whispered, "I was serious. Bend over."

Maybe this could work.

 

"What are you waiting for?" Krieger said. He was feeling rather exposed because, of course, he was.

"I like to get a lay of the land, first," said Gillette, gazing at Krieger's pale ass. The man was bent over the bar, waiting to be touched. "Besides, you seem like one of those types who likes anticipation."

Krieger didn't reply. He was still annoyed that Gillette had figured him out so quickly and thoroughly.

"What's wrong, you think I can't do it?"

"I gotta admit, I'm not confident."

Gillette undid his fly. "Why, 'cause I'm, y'know, 'limp-wristed'?"

"No, you're just not a…dominant personality."

"Oh, I'll show you dominant," said Gillette, removing his dick from his pants and pulling lube from his pocket. "I'm gonna make you beg, babydoll."

"Not likely."

"Uh-huh." He circled Krieger's hole with his lubricated finger. "May I?"

"Go ahead."

Gillette entered him with two fingers, down to the knuckles. "Wanna see a little trick?"

"Sure." His face was growing red already; he hadn't been penetrated in a long time.

Krieger's face grew even more flush when Gillette curled his fingers inside of him.

"You like that?" Krieger only nodded, so Gillette leaned forward to whisper in his ear. "Answer me," he growled, wiggling his fingers.

"Fuck."

"That's not an answer." He worked his ring finger in beside the other two. "Tell me you like it."

Krieger wiped his brow on his sleeve. "Yeah, I like it."

Gillette nipped his ear and removed the fingers. "I'm gonna fuck you, now. Does that sound good?"

"Fine by me." He listened to the rustle as Gillette put on a prophylactic.

Krieger regretted never having turned around and peeked at Gillette's cock. When Gillette entered him and saw him grip the edge of the bar, he began rubbing Krieger's back reassuringly, but it didn't help.

"How much is that?" Krieger said. His knuckles were white by now.

"About halfway."

Krieger groaned and rested his head on his hands.

"We can stop, honey, I have no problem just stopping!" He began to pull out, only to be met with protest: Krieger pushed his hips back so his cock remained inside.

"Keep going. If I don't like it, I'll tell you."

"Alright, honey. And don't hesitate, 'cause - "

 _"Mein Gott,_ just fuck me!"

Gillette obeyed, holding onto Krieger's hips and pushing in slowly. Krieger's little grunts drove him crazy, but he kept his cool, going at a steady pace until he was buried inside.

"You alright?"

Krieger nodded. "Y'know, I never would've guessed you'd be so, ah…well-endowed."

Ray began pulling out, slowly. "Yeah, I've gotten that before." He pulled Krieger's hips in to meet his movements, getting him used to the sensation of being fucked. "Them army boys love it when I pitch."

"Oh?" Krieger wiped his sweaty brow.

"Uh-huh. They act tough, but once you get 'em into bed, it's all over." He was going faster, now, and more rhythmically. Krieger's ass was tighter than Ray had had in a long time, and he wasn't holding back.

"Yeah?"

"Uh-huh. They expect you to do all the work." At that last word, Ray reached around and began jacking Krieger off.

Krieger's breaths were ragged, already. Ray had proven him wrong; he was fucking him hard, and touching his cock with masterful strokes. He was enjoying himself greatly, and as the tension rose in his belly, he began saying stupid things between grunts of pleasure.

"Your hands are soft," Krieger pointed out.

Ray giggled. "You wanna hear a secret?"

Krieger nodded.

"You put a little Vaseline on your hands, before bed, then a glove on over that. And you wake up…" He tightened his grip and sped up. "...With hands like this."

"Wow." He was thrusting his hips back to reach Ray's movements. "I used to think you were a little dull, upstairs."

"Oh, I know." He leaned down to whisper in Krieger's ear. "I let you think that. When you think someone's stupid, you let things slip, 'cause you think they won't get it."

Goosebumps had risen on Krieger's arm by now. "I'm close, Gillette."

"You wanna cum?"

"Yes."

"Beg."

"No, I told you - "

"And I told _you_ , honey, don't fuck me if you don't wanna play games. Now, beg."

Krieger tried to weigh his options as quickly as possible. In that moment, he just wanted release, so he decided to relent.

"Please, Gillette."

"Please, what?" His own voice was reaching a higher pitch.

"Please, let me cum?"

Gillette smiled. "Go right ahead, honey lamb."

He bit Krieger's ear as he came, moaning and shuddering. Krieger had almost forgotten what this kind of orgasm - that is, one from penetrative sex - felt like. It was incredible. When he opened his eyes, little white stars danced before him.

"Did you finish?"

Krieger nodded. "You?"

"Uh-huh." He pulled out and helped Krieger stand up straight, though his own legs were wobbling. "You're quite a find, honey."

Krieger only pulled him into a kiss. This one was not so chaste at all.

 

Gillette watched Krieger as he knelt to wipe the semen off the bar.

"You could've asked me for a prophylactic," said Gillette. "That way you wouldn't have blown your load everywhere."

"It's fine."

"Uh-huh. Anyway, do you remember what we were talking about?"

"Can't say as I do, pal."

"Something about how you think I'm stupid."

 _"Thought._ Now, I'm not so sure."

"Yeah, well, remember how I said you let things slip?"

Krieger turned around. He was suspicious, now.

"If I recall correctly, you let out a little German just a minute ago."

"I don't speak German," he said, but his mind was racing, trying to figure out what he'd said.

"I took it in high school. I don't know grammar or vocabulary or anything, but I still remember the Act of Contrition in perfect German. So, when you said, _'Mein Gott,'_ I was like, wow!"

"You misheard."

"I - "

"And if you heard correctly - " He grabbed Ray by the shoulders and shook him. "You should be a lot more careful."

Ray didn't look worried. "You can kill me if you want."

"You _are_ stupid."

"I just wanted to know if you were a…y'know. You can kill me after you tell me, I just wanna know."

Krieger sighed. "The answer is 'no.' But, I still have to kill you."

"Why? I'm wanted from when me and the guys got caught with reefers, I wouldn't go near the  cops with a ten foot pole. And if you're telling the truth, I wouldn't turn you in, anyway."

"That's not enough." He hoisted Ray up over his shoulder. "Sorry, sweetheart."

"C'mon!"

"Sorry."

"No, you're not!"

"You're right," Krieger sighed. "But, I'm very close."

"What if you had something on me? What then?"

Kriegerhad begun walking behind the bar. "What could you possibly -"

"I killed my father!" Ray cried. "I killed him, 1925, Ferlin, West Virginia!"

Krieger paused. "Really?"

"How do you think a nice country boy ended up in Los Angeles? I told 'em my alibi and headed West like a bat outta hell."

Krieger set Gillette back down. "So, if I go poking around the Ferlin, West Virginia police department's records, I'll find a murdered Gillette with no killer?"

"Not quite. My brother caught the heat, he's in for life. But the bastard deserves it."

_"Scheisse."_

"You _promise_ you're not a Nazi?"

"I promise."

Gillette regarded him for a moment. His face was serious, so it was a surprise when he came out with, "Wanna go to the beach tomorrow?"

"The beach?"

"It's Sunday, we're closed." He wrapped his arms around Krieger's neck. "We'll get ice cream."

"Nope."

"Aw, honey, don't you wanna see me eat an ice cream cone?" He flicked his tongue out, licking Krieger's lips.

Krieger regarded himself as a man of science, and reason, but most of all, a man of solitude. What little emotion and empathy resided within him died with Aaron Liebowitz in 1933. His only purpose in life was revenge, and now that he'd gotten it, killed those blonde-haired-blue-eyed bastards who crossed his exam table, he was simply coasting.

So, he was surprised when he agreed, after all, to go with Ray to the beach.


End file.
